


Good at Everything

by InkFire_Scribe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Cooking, F/M, Married Life, after the books
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 08:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkFire_Scribe/pseuds/InkFire_Scribe
Summary: A short little one-shot of what married life might have been like for Ron and Hermione.





	Good at Everything

There was a long silence. A tense silence. Like the seconds before a stink bomb lands. Or when the smoke starts to curl out of an unwanted red envelope. The whole house was holding its breath while the soup, which had curdled, boiled over, and hardened in the pot, sat unapologetically under Hermione's furious, tearful gaze. Ron bit his lip, averting his gaze for a moment so she might not be able to tell he was smiling. 

"Why won't this... stupid thing turn out?" She almost shouted the words, and Ron could see that she was close to completely losing it. The hardened soup curds in the pot blackened and cracked under her glare. 

"Hold on, honey. It's okay-" 

"Don't you 'honey' me!" snapped the brunette, scowling. "It turns out perfectly every time you do it - and I'm sure I did everything in exactly the same order you did. What recipe were you following? Where did you find it?" Demand came hot on the heels of complaint, and that was never a good sign. She wasn't thinking about her words before they came out of her mouth. 

With a sigh, the redhead pushed himself to his feet, feeling every inch of his thin, lanky frame as though it belonged to someone else. There was nothing he could do to fix the failed soup, and he knew full well that his answer to Hermione's question wasn't going to improve her mood at all. 

"I don't have a recipe for that one. It was just something I saw Mum do once when we had company." He shrugged expressively and rested his hands on her shoulders, kneading the tense muscles with a faint smile he couldn't quite hide. "It's fine, honey. I'll take care of it." 

She whirled, hitting him in the face with her abundant curls and throwing off his hands in the same motion. There were tears on her face as she looked up into his face with an expression so thunderous, he wouldn't have been surprised to see lightning bolts dancing in her hair. 

"I don't want you to  _take care of it,_ Ron! If I can brew verita-bloody-serum perfectly in one try, why can't I make a stupid bloody soup?" She gestured at the pot so violently that, even though she hadn't touched it, the metal cracked neatly in half. She was breathing heavily through her nose, eyes flashing dangerously, and Ron was relieved that the kids were both at school. 

Silently, he lifted his hands, showing her that he wasn't holding anything before gently cupping her face between his palms and wiping the tears from her cheeks. Beautiful cheeks. So ready to smile or frown. The nose that wrinkled in distaste or when she laughed too hard. The eyebrows that were so often drawn together in thought while she read late into the night. With the pad of his thumb, he caught the salty tears dripping from the corners of her dark eyes and wiped them away. 

"Hey, Hermione, honeycake, you know you don't have to be good at  _everything_. You're the Minister of Magic. You can afford to let me do the cooking." His tone was gentle, and he brushed her beautiful little nose with his long one, thinking to himself how lucky he was. He knew she would be able to tell what he was thinking. Bloody woman was a wonder at absolutely everything - including legilimency. 

"You're ridiculous," she muttered, but he could tell that she was calming down. 

"I know. So are you. But I love you anyway. Lucky you, huh?" He gave her a self-deprecating grin, and was rewarded with a faint laugh. He gave her a little shake, holding her with firm affection that left no room for doubt. She was his and that wasn't going to change. "I want you to do me a favor, honey. Can you do that for me?" 

Hermione nodded, pulling her wand from her pocket. She flicked it at the hob, and in a blink, the mess was gone. Another flick, and the pot was repaired. Ron gave her a tight hug. 

"Give St. Mungo's a call? I think you're pregnant again." 

There was that silence again. Even the kitchen clock went silent. It was an obnoxiously cheerful thing that ticked quietly to itself and sang a little ditty on the hour. Ron often cast a silencing charm on it for exactly that reason. 

"Pregnant?" The question was barely a whisper. Her eyes were unfocused, her attention turned inward, considering symptoms and time and all the different little details he probably didn't know much of anything about. 

"Seems likely. But I'm no expert. The Healers at Mungos will be able to tell you better than me." 

Her gaze sharpened, focusing on his face as she smacked his chest with an open palm. "Stop that, Ron. You're doing it again - you're not nearly as dumb as you pretend." 

He gave her another grin and stole a quick kiss. "Go call St. Mungo's. I'll fix something for dinner." 

"I'm going to jinx you if you're right again." 

"It's worth it." 

"You're mad." 

"And you married me. What does that say about us?" 


End file.
